The Rewind Series Boxset

by Jill Cooper

  His eyes narrow on me. “No offense, but you’re way different than the last time we talked. You’re like, a different person.”

  Can I trust him? I want to, but this Rick and I haven’t been friends in a long time. There’s no telling if he will keep my secret or report me. I could spend the rest of my life in jail or worse.

  “You ever wonder what life would’ve been like if I hadn’t moved away or become a Montgomery?”

  He offers a whimsical smile, progress. “Well sure, when I was little. I wondered when you were going to stop by with your softball glove like you used to.” He rubs his knee, and his expression grows serious. He’s about to tell me a secret.

  I lick my lips in anticipation. I want to touch him, tell him he can trust me, but I can’t.

  “For years I kept this stupid thing in a shoebox.” His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, and his cheeks redden.

  I know what he’s thinking of because I remember it from the past we shared together, when the stupid thing became the first symbol of our love.

  “But you moved away,” he continues. “I brought it to the wedding. I brought it to the first year of junior high in case I saw you again, but things were different, and I… never had the guts.”

  “The lollipop ring,” I say softly and watch his face fall and his eyes flicker with anger.

  Rick pushes back, increasing the distance between us. “How did you … did my mom tell you about it?”

  “No.” Anxiety builds in my chest, and I have no choice but to let it out. “You gave it to me. When we were nine.”

  Rick shakes his head, adamant. “I didn’t. Never did. How did you—.”

  “You did. In a different past. The one I remember. This one, it’s all wrong, Rick.”

  I touch his hand, run my fingers along his as we used to, but he pulls away and is on the other side of the room in a flash. His fingers are tangled in his hair, pushing it away from his eyes that flash unspoken words about me.

  I’ve scared him, and I want to make it right. I stand up, but he holds his hands up to keep me at bay.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re pulling, but I’ve had enough. You think you can play me?” His face flushes as he glares.

  “Rick—”

  “You gotta go.” He yanks the front door open, and the pictures on the walls rattle.

  Twisting on my arches, I stare at him, but he won’t look at me. “If you give me five minutes, I can explain. If you can have an open mind—”

  “Now!” His eyes are trained at the wall, and his jaw tenses. He needs time, but I am desperate for answers.

  Backing through the door, I keep my eyes on his and I see that he feels it. I wait for a sign, but the only one I get is a door slamming in my face. I sigh and exit the apartment building.

  It's dusk, and I shiver as a chilled breeze greets me. My stomach is an empty pit. I’ll have a lot to answer for at home, especially with it getting so late. But how can it be home without my dad? I should go face the music, but I’m not ready. The longer I wait, the worse it will be, but I can only think about now. I hike over to the subway platform and take the rail over to Mass Ave where the public library is.

  It’s crawling with college students, so I and my hoodie fit in pretty well. On the second floor, scattered between the rows of books, are computer desks. I slide into one and bring up a search on my father.

  Scrolling through the results, some old news articles catch my attention. My breath stops, and my brain grinds to a halt.

  Convicted Murderer John Crane Denied Parole

  Ten years ago John Crane was convicted of hiring a hit man to kill his then wife, Miranda. In a botched attempt, an innocent bystander was shot but disappeared before medics could arrive on the scene.

  John Crane professed his innocence throughout his trial and incarceration. Email correspondence, fingerprints, bank statements, and voice recordings were enough to convince the jury of his guilt even though the police never apprehended the hired hit man.

  Upon his denial for parole, he issued the following statement through his attorney, Fred Grayson, “I am disappointed to be denied parole again, but I will not give up my fight.”

  Pain pumps through me like blood, surging to every muscle, joint, and fiber holding me together. I doubt I could possibly feel any more pain. It’s my fault. I’m responsible. The guilt is mine. My stomach wretches with a convulsion, and before I know it, I’m on my knees, and flashes of white mar my vision. My throbbing brain is again trying to burst from my skull.

  From the pain in my head I know I’m about to receive more information than I can handle, and I’m fighting it, which only makes the agony worse. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see, but I can only fight for so long.

  I feel as if something is jacked into my brain, as if the knowledge is being directly downloaded into me from an offsite source. My body is still in the library, but I don’t see the ugly tables or outdated stacks any longer. Instead, I see a blue haze, and when it clears I’m back in the apartment I shared with my parents when I was young.

  I’m clinging to Dad’s leg. Mom is there too, and she’s yanking on my shirt, screaming that we need to go. I’m scared and confused. The police are here to take Dad away, but I don’t want him to go. I need him to stay with us.

  Dad doesn’t say anything. I cling to the fabric of his jeans and bury my head against him. My fingers claw at him, desperate to hold on, and his trembling fingers stroke my hair.

  From behind, someone unhooks me and picks me up. I scream and thrash, and over his shoulders my arms outstretch towards Dad.

  “Daddy, help me! I don’t want to go! Daddy!”

  The fear in his frantic eyes scares me. He doesn’t make a move for me, because he can’t. On either side of him are police, and his face is damp with tears. The officers hold their arms in front of him, so he can’t rush after me.

  My eyes plead with him. I want nothing more than for him to come and tell me all the whispers I’m hearing at school are a mistake. Daddies don’t do the stuff they are talking about. He loves Mom, and he loves me.

  “I’ll find you, Lara. I promise to God we’ll be together again. Damn it, Miranda, you know I didn’t do this. You know!”

  His words are no comfort. The police hand me over to Mom. I bury my face in her hair and cry as we slip into the backseat of a car, about to be whisked away. What if I never see home again?

  The haze clears, and I see the library again as my temples pulse. A few people are gathered around me. I see my purse emptied on the ground, and I scramble for the contents. My phone is vibrating beneath the table with a name on the display.

  Mom

  I snatch it and realize I need to talk to her in person. A hand clamps my shoulder.

  “We called an ambulance,” the older man says. He has caring eyes and is wearing an outdated fedora, like Indiana Jones.

  “I’m fine. I didn’t eat much today.” I stand up, clutching my stuff, but my legs wobble.

  “You don’t seem fine to me, young lady.”

  “I need to go home.” I try to sneak past him, but he shadows my movements.

  “Get checked out by a doctor. What could it hurt?”

  There’s little room for argument, so I wait. Men in white shirts arrive with a stretcher, but I know they won’t find anything wrong with me. Nothing that will register on their equipment.

  But something is wrong with me. I grip my purse strap and sit down when I’m told. Time travel sickness. The merging of new memories with the old ones. I thought I could avoid it. I thought it wouldn’t happen to me, but now it's hitting me and strong.

  I need to find my dad. I need to clear his name before all my old memories of growing up with him and being with Rick are wiped out by these new ones. Or worse, before my brain hemorrhages and I die.

  Chapter Five

  The doctors say I’m okay, only suffering from exhaustion and hunger. But they don’t bother to give me a brain scan
, and I certainly don’t suggest one. Their solution is giving me food and juice. It’s bland, but it helps.

  Shortly after 8PM, I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for my parents to pick me up. I hope Mom comes alone, so I can talk to her. Footsteps from the hall pull my attention. With anxious butterflies, I glance up and see a disheveled Jax.

  His face wears worry. Despite my anger, I remember him from the wedding in my new memory. I have new feelings for him. He raised me, and as much as I hate it, the way I treated him wasn’t fair. He’s silent as he sits beside me on the cot. His warm hand covers mine, and I study his face as he only inspects the linoleum floor.

  I don’t want to fight him because I don’t want to deal with the consequences of making my life harder than it already is. “Sorry,” I whisper and bite my lip.

  “Where’d you go?” he asks, his eyes blink quickly and when his eyes lock with mine, they dart away again quickly. It is as if merely being with me is hard. His eyes are filled with hurt I put there, and I’m sorry, for everything.

  “Just out. Needed to think.”

  He shifts, rests his elbows on his legs and leans forward. “Did you use the computer at the library?”

  The doctors must have told him everything. “Yeah.” I play with the hem of my shirt and I’m awash with guilt.

  Jax sighs. “I’m sorry you found out that way. I knew we should’ve told you about the parole hearing. Your mom…”He trails off, appearing to choose his words carefully. “We didn’t want to upset you. Clearly, it worked.”

  His smile is contagious, and when I return it, he slides closer. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, trying to comfort me. I close my eyes, my insides screaming for him to lay off, but I steady the impulse.

  He kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry, princess, real sorry. I know you want to wish it away.”

  That and a lot more. “Where’s Mom?”

  “She had a late meeting and was stuck in traffic. She’ll meet us at home.” He plays with my hair as if he’s done so a million times, and I get a flash of his face as he tucks me into bed. My chubby arms hug his neck, and I utter, “I love you, Daddy.”

  Daddy.

  A realization hits me. “Mom works a lot.” That I didn’t expect. I had thought we’d be together.

  “Just for this stretch. In a few weeks we have that vacation to the Bahamas. I know a trip with the parents isn’t the trendiest thing in the world…”

  I’ll have time to spend with Mom, if my brain isn’t mush by then. “No, it sounds good. Can’t wait.”

  Jax winks and his face lights up. “I know lately we’ve had our problems, but I love you, Lar. You have to know that.”

  “I do. Of course.” I wish I knew what he was talking about.

  “Let’s bring you home. If we hurry you can say goodnight to the twins.”

  We leave, and his arm guides me toward the family car. Cushioned inside, I watch the scenery fly by and the lights cast their glow across the windows. My phone rings. Donovan. I send it to voice mail.

  “You can change the radio station if you want,” Jax says.

  “No. I’m okay,” I say flatly.

  He raises his eyebrows.

  What else could be different about me? Am I a disrespectful, spoiled kid? Do I take everything for granted now because I have the mom and dad I always wanted, while my real dad rots in prison? I take a deep breath and straighten up as we approach the house. I don’t know if he can have visitors, but I have to find out. I need to see him.

  The lights are dim and the house is quiet when I enter. The twins are probably sleeping by now. I smell potatoes and lemon lingering in the air, and the clink of silverware welcomes me as I step into the kitchen.

  There she is.

  She’s bent over the dishwasher, loading up the evening dishes. Her brown curls are covering her face, and my voice croaks, “Mom?”

  She straightens up. Worry and relief fight for a place on her face. My lip trembles, and I rush to her side. Her arms open to accept me, and I crumble against her. I take a deep breath and remember her vanilla scent. She grips me hard, and I do the same, my chest heaving with sobs.

  “Oh, baby,” she whispers, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you back today. The meetings and the schedules are crazy right now.”

  I nod, squeeze my eyes shut, and content myself with resting my face in her hair. It tickles my nose, but I don’t care.

  She takes me by the shoulders to look at me. Her face is broken with sorrow, and she wipes the tears from my cheeks. “It’s harder on you than anyone. If I could make it all go away, I would, Lara.”

  “I’m glad … that I’m home.”

  “Me too.” Mom smiles and points to the bar stool. “Sit and keep me company for a minute.”

  She opens the fridge and gets out two bottles of apple juice, handing me one. “When Dad called and told me how you stormed out of the house …” She stops to take a drink. “I was angrier than I’ve been in a long time, Lara. But when the call came that you were taken to the hospital …” Her face grows pale. “I haven’t been that scared since the day in the alley.”

  I fumble with the lid to my juice. “I didn’t mean to pass out or be so…mean.”

  “I know to have John in jail is hard on you, but Jax loves you too. He’s been here for you. For us. And I know you’re a teenager, which means your emotions are all over the map. One day you hate us, the next you love us.” Mom takes a deep, shaking breath. “I need you to be respectful, okay? It’s not easy for him to love you so much and have you slap him in the face.”

  Have I done this before? “I apologized.”

  “Good.” Seeming relieved, she pulls my hair away from my forehead and kisses me. It’s so good to be with her. It’s as if I’m basking in the warmth of the sun. "Now head to bed. School day tomorrow.”

  I want to stay and stare at her, but I agree. From the door I say, “Love you, Mom.”

  For a moment, her mouth hangs open. “I love you too, peanut.”

  As I leave the kitchen I see Jax in the living room going over some papers.

  “Good night,” I tell him.

  “Good night, honey.” I feel his eyes follow me as I head up the stairs.

  Once I’m in my room I change into some pajamas and then analyze my situation. I need to know as much about myself as possible before tomorrow. I notice trophies lining my closet for softball and bowling. Bowling? My nose scrunches. Who does that? My bookcases are lined with romance novels and mysteries. At least that hasn’t changed.

  Under my bed I find the treasure chest I’ve been searching for—a photo album. Flipping through the pages I find family photos of me, the twins, Jax. The ones of Mom make me smile. I’m playfully posing in dresses, decked out to the nines as if I were some socialite on a mission to rid the world of any color that isn’t pastel.

  But my face is rosy and alive with smiles. I look happy. Real happy.

  A lot of the photos are of me with Jax and Mom. I’m placing kisses on his cheeks and helping him blow out the candles on his birthday cake. We are all in fancy outfits, and the backdrop appears to be somewhere tropical or on a boat. I squeeze my eyes shut, and my mind floats back to Dad’s, my real dad's, last birthday.

  The apartment is so small the kitchen table is butted up against the sofa, and our dog is whining underneath my legs. Dad is tall, strong, and macho, but he’s wearing a yellow party hat and a goofy smile. He shakes the wrapped package. “It’s not a bomb. Or LEGO.”

  “Not LEGO.” I grin. I’m wearing a comfortable old sweatshirt and no makeup, but I’m smiling. Dad says it’s the only makeup I need.

  He pulls open the package to reveal some steam engine trains for his model railway. He’s been building it for years because he never has any free time or money to spend on it. His eyes go misty in the way only allergies can be blamed for. “Lara, this is awesome! Thanks, girl.”

  I reach across the table, and we hug. In front of us are our finished
bowls of macaroni and cheese and a small cake, the flames on the candles dancing in celebration.

  “Make a wish,” I say and wonder what he’s wishing for. I wish for the same thing every year.

  He smiles before he blows them out. I clap my hands before he breaks out the forks and plates. Dessert is served.

  “What’d you wish for?” I lick the last of the ice cream from my spoon.

  “To spend more time with you.” He winks and strokes my hand. When he stands up, the chair squeaks across the floor.

  Pouting, I watch him pull on his janitor’s jacket. Dinner break is over fast this time. “Dad—”

  He kisses the top of my head. “It was a great birthday dinner, Lara. We’ll talk in the morning before school, okay?”

  I force a smile. “Happy birthday.”

  The sadness in his eyes makes him appear older than he did a few minutes ago. When the door shuts behind him, the apartment echoes with a hollow boom, leaving me cold. Sparky whines and rubs against my leg. I lean down to stroke his fur.

  “I’m gonna fix this. I’m going to fix this for all of us.”

  I take the plates over to the garbage to scrape clean and find a card Dad has thrown out without opening. Like he does every year. On the envelope is a fancy return address label with a swirling J on the corner. I consider opening it to see who it’s from. Instead, I respect his privacy and dump our cake on top and move on.

  Back in the present, I now wish I had opened the card. I slam the photo album shut, and my cell phone rings. I fish it out of my purse. It’s not Donovan, luckily, but Kristine. She was one of my closest friends, and I’m glad some things haven’t changed.

  “Are you all right?” Her voice is rushed.

  “I’m okay,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. “I just got home. I’m tired. News travels fast, I guess.”

  “It does when it lands you in the hospital, Lara! Musta been traumatic. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Sure as I’m going to be. I’m headed to bed. I’ll tell you all about it, tomorrow.”